The Ghost Host: Episode 1 (The Ghost Host Series) Page 21

  His shoulders relax as he reaches up and touches my face gently. “Ditto on the mind and body not being on the same page.” He presses a light kiss to my lips. “I don’t think I’m ready either, but thank you for being honest with me.”

  “Thank you,” I say, “for everything.”

  Malachi smiles, kisses me one more time, and then helps me into my seat. He closes my door and makes for the driver’s side, but I catch sight of something moving from the corner of my eye and turn to look at it. I nearly jump out of my skin at the sight of Archer’s indistinct form hovering only a few feet away. His features are clouded, but the slump to his shoulders tears at me. Understanding is impossible, but the feeling that I just did something to hurt him lingers as we drive away.

  25: Zombie

  (Echo)

  Stretching as far as I can, I still can’t reach the hair clip while I’ve got a curling iron twisted around a thick lock of my hair. Why didn’t I move them closer? The strand I just curled keeps flipping forward into my eyes. I just need one clip to get it out of the way. Reaching a little farther, I almost have it when a sharp knock on the door startles me so badly I knock the clip to the floor and lose my grip on the curling iron.

  Hissing in pain when it slides down my arm, more than one not so ladylike word slips past my lips. I’m not exactly quiet about it either. Yanking the cord out of the wall, I snatch the iron off the floor and drop it on my dresser with a scowl. The momentary burst of adrenaline is dulling the pain of the burn. I make use of it and rush to the front door so I can run to the freezer for some ice next.

  After a quick look through the peephole, I flick the lock and toss the door open. I’m halfway to the kitchen before I hear Kyran say, “Nice to see you, too.”

  “Sorry,” I holler as I fling the freezer door open and grab a handful of ice out of the icemaker tray. About that time, I realize I don’t have anywhere to put the ice. Another curse slips past my lips.

  “Need a hand?” Kyran asks with a laugh.

  Crinkling my nose at him for poking fun, I gesture at a wide, shallow door. “Baggy, please. And hurry!” The stinging cold on my fingers is almost as bad as the burn!

  Shaking his head, Kyran takes the ice from my hand and dumps it in the sink. “You’re not supposed to use ice on a burn.” He turns the tap on and gestures for me to join him at the sink. I’m surprised when the cool water relieves some of the pain. He leaves me there and grabs the sadly basic first aid kit we got yesterday out from under the sink and starts digging through it. “Ice can damage the skin. Since it’s just a curling iron burn, I’m guessing, we only need to put a little antibacterial ointment on it and you should be fine.”

  He sets to work patting my arm dry and smearing ointment across the trailing burn down my biceps. It feels so much better by the time he pronounces me to be fine. “Wow, thanks, Kyran. Where’d you lean about treating burns?”

  “Had to go through a pretty comprehensive first aid course as part of my flight attendant training. It’s come in handy on the ground more than once,” he says with a laugh. “Malachi and I have gotten into few scrapes over the last year. Least which was when he nearly set the kitchen on fire when some grease spilled on the stove.”

  Glad my own burn wasn’t too serious, I just shake my head. It’s amazing I never had to provide any serious first aid with my sisters. Those two were forever getting into ridiculous situations. Luckily, they never needed more than a few bandages. I’m about to ask Kyran more about his job, but another thought distracts me.

  “I thought you were going with Holden and Malachi this morning to pick up the new mattresses we ordered. Did they leave you behind?”

  “No,” Kyran says as he starts gathering up the first aid mess. “I had to run an errand. Something for you, actually.”

  Surprised, but curious, I ask, “What is it?”

  “Remember when you guys called about protecting your dreams?” Kyran asks. I nod, wondering what he’s come up with. “Well, I told my aunt what you’re having issues with and she thought this would work a little better.”

  Kyran pulls a rectangular cloth bag out of his back pocket and hands it to me. Malachi mentioned that Kyran’s family tends to lean toward the mystical, and I admit I hesitate to open it. When I looked up what a hex bag was after Malachi mentioned Kyran sleeps with one under his bed every night, I was kind of grossed out to learn many of them contain bones of some kind—usually an animal.

  Pressing my lips together, I pull the zipper open slowly. Please don’t let there be any bones or bugs or slimy things in here. It’s hard not to close my eyes when the zipper is completely undone and the sides open. Gingerly, I reach into the bag and pull out a length of corded leather. It takes me a minute to realize Kyran is laughing at me.

  “What did you think was going to be in there? Frogs and worms?” He shakes his head. “Your expression was hilarious!”

  Ignoring him, I hold up the leather cord. “What is it?”

  Kyran takes the cord from my hand and reaches toward me. Shying away, I give him warning look. “It’s not going to hurt you,” he says with a roll of his eyes. “It’s just a headband.” He can tell I’m still not convinced by the scrunchy expression on my face. Sighing he holds up the headband. “See how it’s braided? Inside the braid is salt. My aunt assured me it’s waterproof, so the salt will stay inside and protect you. Putting it around your head keeps the ghosts from getting in there with you. There’s some bracelets and necklaces in the bag too, so you can wear them however you think is best.”

  “There’s salt in all of them?” I ask in amazement. What a clever idea! I don’t know why I never thought of it before.

  “Yeah. It’s not foolproof, but it should work pretty well. Better than just being open for the taking,” Kyran says.

  I nod in agreement, and Kyran takes that as permission to go back to what he was doing. He positions the leather headband on the top of my head, letting the ends dangle for a second. His fingers slide down, producing a strange reaction in me. Nothing about his touch is out of the ordinary, but when his fingertips brush my hair behind my ear, I stop breathing for a moment and look up at him.

  His own expression seems completely average, but he’s looking at me as well. One corner of his mouth quirks up. “Carrots,” he says with a laugh that seems to have something behind it. “Your hair is a pretty cool color. I thought so the first time I watched your show.”

  Kyran’s fingers catch hold of the hanging leather cord and pull it behind my ears. I force myself to take a breath and focus on something other than this weird feeling. “When was that?”

  “Second show you guys aired,” Kyran says, grinning at my surprise. “Cerise saw the first show and told me I had to watch it the next week. That was before you guys started posting them on YouTube right away. She tried to get Malachi to watch too.”

  “He said no?” I ask while Kyran ties the cord at the base of my neck.

  Shrugging, Kyran’s fingers move slowly. “He just ignored her. Wasn’t his kind of thing. Never has been.”

  “Until his great grandma came on, right?”

  Finally pulling his hands away, Kyran leans against the counter. “Yeah, I guess.”

  I take in a deep breath and resist the urge to shiver. “You guess?”

  Kyran folds his arms across his chest as he thinks. “He was freaked out by his great grandma coming on your show, but I think he was still more interested in you than the whole ghost aspect. Why do you think he hasn’t tried going back to the old estate since we got ran off by the termite guys and gotten what she left him?”

  “Because it’s dangerous,” I say automatically. I told him it was. He agreed. Madeline just said he should go before the estate is sold. There wasn’t any big rush. I look to Kyran, hoping he’ll agree, but he only shrugs.

  “Maybe,” he says.

  “But, everything he’s seen since meeting me…he believes me about the ghosts now.” Pressing my lips together, I backtrack ju
st a little. “He believes me enough to not run, anyway. I know he’s still working on taking everything in. It’s a lot, you know?”

  Kyran nods. “Yeah, I know. He’ll get there eventually. It may take him a while longer than you expect. Be patient with him, okay?”

  That seems like a strange comment, but I can’t really put my finger on why. Needing a distraction, I reach back into the bag Kyran gave me and pull out several leather bracelets and a necklace with a metal six pointed star dangling from it. I look at the star, then up at Kyran questioningly.

  “Star of David,” he says. “My aunt said it’s good for protection from evil. She figured it couldn’t hurt.”

  “Thank you for these, Kyran. Tell your aunt thanks, too. I really appreciate it.”

  Kyran pushes away from the counter. “No problem.”

  “She didn’t by chance find anything with Archer’ name, did she?” I know it was a long shot to have her do whatever it is she does, but I can’t help hoping.

  “No,” Kyran says with a sigh, “sorry.”

  I’m disappointed, but at least there’s still Agent Morton. I know he’ll scour everything he can get his hands on to find an answer. Not wanting to think about it any longer, I wonder when the guys and will be back from the store with the mattresses. They’ve taken quite a bit longer than what I expected. I pull out my phone to see if either of them has texted me.

  “Where’s Zara?” Kyran asks.

  “Checking out the complex pool and gym. She said she’d be back in a few minutes.” How long ago was that? She must have found something interesting to check out. I’m about to shoot her a text when my phone starts ringing. Agent Morton’s face pops up on my screen. “Hello, Agent Morton.”

  “Good morning, Echo. Would you be up for coming in today?” he asks. “I have some information I want to discuss with you.”

  Excitement bubbles up that maybe he found out something about Archer, but then fear of the same thing hits me right in the chest. “Uh, sure. Is it okay if I bring Kyran? I’m still learning the streets and I don’t want to get lost.” Really, I just don’t want to go by myself.

  “That’s fine. He can always wait outside if you want to discuss things privately,” Agent Morton says.

  So, it’s nothing top secret. That’s reassuring, at least. I tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can and hang up. When I stuff my phone back in my pocket and face Kyran, I cringe. “Sorry, I didn’t even ask if you wanted to come. Do you have something else you need to do?”

  “What am I gonna do that’s more interesting than stalker ghosts and the FBI?” He laughs and gestures for me to take the lead. On the way down to my car, I text the others to let them know where I’m going and that Kyran’s with me. I don’t get any immediate response from Malachi or Holden, but Zara sends me back a smiley face and some excited words about a guy she met at the clubhouse. So, that’s where she went.

  I do end up needing Kyran’s help to find my way back to the FBI building, but we make it there without getting too terribly lost. Just like last time, Agent Morton meets me in the lobby. He shakes Kyran’s hand without needing an introduction—which surprisingly doesn’t seem to bother Kyran even though he’s likely got a more colorful past that Malachi. Agent Morton doesn’t lead us back to the testing room, but to his office, which is still largely in boxes.

  “So,” I ask nervously. “Is this about Archer?”

  Agent Morton frowns, which puts me even more on edge than I already am. “Possibly,” he hedges, “but it’s mainly about you.” He leans back in his chair and focuses his full attention on me. It’s not a pleasant feeling. “What can you tell me about the last time you were admitted to the hospital?”

  Last time? There was only one time. Not sure what this has to do with anything, I give him what he wants. “I was seven. The ghosts had been getting really hard to deal with. We were at the park when a couple of them tried to touch me. I already knew what that was like, so I ran. I was scared, not paying attention, and I ran right in front of a guy on his bike. His pedal caught my arm and tore a pretty good gash in it. Plus, I got a concussion.”

  That was the whole of it, nothing spectacular, but Agent Morton’s frown deepens. “That’s not the incident I was talking about.” He seems confused, but he can’t be nearly as confused as I am.

  “What are you talking about? That’s the only time I’ve been admitted to the hospital.”

  “No,” Agent Morton says slowly, “you were admitted when you were thirteen. The only injury was a cut on your head from a short fall, but the psychological trauma kept you there for a week.”

  I have no idea what he’s talking about. “Someone must have screwed up, because that never happened.”

  Slowly, Agent Morton pushes a file across his desk and taps the blank manila folder. “There’s no mistake.”

  He keeps his eye on me until I reach a shaky hand forward and take the file. For a few seconds, I just sit there staring at it. Not until Kyran reaches over and puts a hand on my shoulder do I dare make a move. Confusion slaps me across the face when I’m greeted with a picture of my thirteen-year-old self lying unconscious in a hospital bed. There are a few more photos that show a close up of a gash on my head.

  I can’t help it. My fingers slip into my hair and start shaking when I feel a raised lump of scar tissue exactly where the pictures say it will be. Have I never felt that before? How is that even possible? Moving the pictures aside, I read through the forms and scribbly doctor’s notes. None of it makes any sense.

  What camping trip was I on? Where was this ravine I fell into while hiking? Why wasn’t I with my parents? Where were my parents? Where were the twins? How did I end up losing an entire two weeks of memories? The file says we’d been on a family camping trip for a week when I fell, that my parents found me and took me to the hospital. I woke up an hour later, but started screaming and freaking out so badly they had to keep me sedated for several days.

  I flip to the last page and stop breathing when a passage catches my eye.

  When asked about what happened, the patient has no memory of the fall or even the camping trip. The only information we can get out of her is a name. Peter Archer. She is unable to tell us who he is. The only coherent thing she’s said since waking was that she needed to find Peter Archer and save him from the ghosts. Parents have agreed to a psychiatric consultation.

  I feel sick. Sucking in a deep breath, I try to keep myself from vomiting. Thirteen. Summer. That’s when my weekly therapy visits were amped up from once a week to three times a week. My parents refused to let me do anything that summer. I barely even got to see Zara and Holden. I never knew why. I never even questioned their sudden anxiety.

  It gives me a headache trying to think back to the end of that school year. I remember the last day of school my eighth grade year. Zara and I talked my mom into letting us go to the mall by ourselves to buy new bathing suits. We had a blast. I’d been doing better in school the last half of that year. Holden’s parents had just put in a pool—the reason for the shopping trip—but I never went swimming. Try as I might, I can’t remember a single thing that happened the two weeks after school let out. The next thing I remember is being hauled off to therapy by a strung out mom.

  Tossing the file back on the desk, I stare at it. My head starts shaking slowly. This can’t be right, can it?

  “Did you find anything on this Peter Archer?” Kyran asks, his hand sliding from my shoulder to take my shaking hand.

  Agent Morton looks at me in concern, but answers anyway. “Yes, we did. He went missing while his family was camping in the same area as Echo’s family, on the same day Echo was found in the ravine. His body was never found.”

  That’s it. That’s all I can take. I lose it. Tears start pouring down my face as I look up at Agent Morton, pleading. “Is this my fault? Did he die because of me? Is that why he hates me so much?” I crumple in on myself, already knowing this poor boy is dead because of something I did. Agent Morton
doesn’t say anything, but Kyran’s arm comes around my shoulders immediately.

  “Echo, nobody knows what happened. Even if it does have something to do with the ghosts, that doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

  He’s wrong. I know he’s wrong. I did this. Whoever Peter Archer is, he’s dead because he had the misfortune of getting tangled up with the crazy girl who sees ghosts.

  “Archer doesn’t hate you, anyway,” Kyran says. “Dude’s in love with you.”

  Pulling my soggy self back up enough to face him, I say, “What?”

  “Remember what Malachi and Holden said about the night in the hotel, when you begged him not to leave you in your sleep?” Kyran says. “He didn’t attack you. He touched your face. And when you asked him to stay away from the barbeque, he did the same thing. He’s not trying to hurt you. He’s trapped, and that’s turning him into the vengeful spirit you keep seeing, but he doesn’t hate you.”

  I want to tell him he’s wrong, but the night after the barbeque, when I actively sought him out and tried to talk to him, comes back into my mind and backs up everything he’s saying. Suddenly, the images he tried to show me start flashing through my mind again. Every word I wrote down that night after Archer left is permanently etched into my mind.

  Trees, hiking path, water, holding hands, needle, pain, blood, tent, flowers, cliff.

  The trees, tents, water, flowers, hiking path…the cliff…they all match what Agent Morton is telling me. Holding hands…that image stuck more firmly than anything else. Was it really Archer and me? The blood, the needles, it’s impossible to deny that those fit, too.

  “Why can’t I remember any of this?” I beg, desperate for an answer.

  Agent Morton sighs. “The sedation you were under probably had something to do with it, but the psychiatrist who examined you at the hospital, as well as your usual therapists, agreed that you simply blocked it out because it was too difficult for you to process at the time.”